


I Can't Let Go (You Are the Only Exception)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Fighting and making up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: “Do you ever wonder if maybe we can’t do this? If we’re both too fucked up to love?” she finally asks, voice an almost hoarse whisper. She’s terrified for the answer because it’s something she’s always wondered, if life was too cruel and damaging and she’d crossed the line of no return when it came to ever receiving something lasting. But Dolls answers, quick and sure, and doesn’t let go of her.“I may be, but you’re not.”She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and blinks away tears, tearing away from the crook of his shoulder to take his face in her hands and meet his eyes. “I’m not loving anyone if it isn’t you.”





	I Can't Let Go (You Are the Only Exception)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while listening to "The Only Exception" by Paramore and it made me very emotional. Definitely recommend listening to it while reading this if you want to cry. I love these two so much and just want them to be happy, I really wish canon would just give us that already. Season 3, please be good to us Wyndolls shippers!!!

It’s been a day and a half of silence and tension — between everyone, really — but especially for her and Dolls, and Wynonna  _ hates _ it. To be fair, when she’s pissed everyone else seems to be on edge too, and she should maybe feel guilty about that and maybe try to correct herself, but she sees Dolls’ shadow when she closes her eyes, walking away from her, sullen and defeated, and she thinks she deserves to seethe. 

Waverly had woken up, chipper as always, but Wynonna shut her peppiness down almost instantly after snatching a waffle off the kitchen plate and wordlessly stomping back into her bedroom. She hears her hushed whispers, likely to Nicole or maybe Doc, and it makes her angrier, though it shouldn’t; they have the right to be concerned about her and she’s surely given them a reason to, but she’s spent too much of her life being the focus of discussion. God, she’s such a fuckup —

She stops thinking and tugs her jeans on, pockets a nip of her whiskey in her coat jacket because God knows it’s going to be necessary after today’s drama, and she heads to work, driving slow and blasting angry rock music she doesn’t know the words to but feels connected to nonetheless, heavy bass and snare feeling similar to the racket of a mess inside her mind.

If she’s being completely honest, she doesn’t entirely remember what her and Dolls fought about. It was late and they were tired and she was mildly intoxicated and it definitely had to do with work because it’d been draining them lately, but all she really remembers is yelling and heat flaring in her chest and sadness when he left without kissing her goodnight. There was hopelessness in his eyes, despair and defeat that hurt her to look at directly, so she looked away. When her eyes lifted, he was leaving. 

It stings more than any other fight she’s ever had because she’s seen it before. It’s almost pity, but kind of for both of them, like he knows this romantic territory is new for him but she makes it even harder, so it all just hurts even more. She loves him, she knows this, but she needs him more than she’d realized. A voice in her mind theorizes that maybe she doesn’t deserve him, and the sadness cuts deep and burns; it’s familiar. It’s been there all her life, over and over again, and that fact just makes her sad more than anything. That’s why she focuses on the anger— her job requires anger, after all, and it’s easier to cope with than sadness.

When she gets to the police station she takes a swig of the whiskey. She won’t be driving for awhile, especially not since they’re so backed up on work. She sighs at the thought, and bites her lip when she thinks of Dolls, her boss, her friend, her...ex-boyfriend? Are they even broken up now? She doesn’t know.

What she does know is that when he meets her eyes in the doorway there’s a flash of something, strong and recognizable and palpable; he can’t hide it, but he ducks his head right after so she knows he wishes he could have. He mutters a hello, hands her a stack of papers, and Wynonna stands there in front of him for a long moment, fingers gripped tight around the paper, gaze locked on the stubble forming on his jaw— that’s new, she thinks, and it hurts her that she notices. A sense of longing rushes through her and he takes a breath, shallow and quiet but she notices, and before he can say something she moves to a table across the room and starts working.

Nicole and Waverly stay out of the office for the most part, and Doc stops by to bring more information on Bulshar and a cup of coffee for Wynonna. It’s free, brewed from down the hall in Nedley’s coffee pot, Wynonna can tell, and it’s a sweet gesture but she doesn’t take a sip. She says “thanks” and puts it aside, feeling Dolls’ eyes on her, on them, and she knows Doc didn’t mean anything by means of flirtation through the drink but friendship had already been a rocky enough journey between the gunslinger and the deputy marshall. In another life, she may have relished in the opportunity to make an already feuding partner jealous, to string along someone else right in front of their eyes, but all she can think is how much she misses him and wants this to be over, wishes she could go wrap herself in his arms and be accepted rather than pushed away. Her anger is gone.

Besides, Doc gives her a sad smile from the doorway, almost knowingly, and so Wynonna knows all he wanted was to make her day a little less miserable.

  
  


    “Can we get dinner?” Wynonna asks Dolls when they’re leaving, heart hammering against her ribs. It scares her how much she cares. “Or just talk. I really just want to talk.”

Dolls meets her eyes, nods slow, calculated. “My place?”

    “Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice quavers. She keeps her gaze low after that, all the way to the car, half of her mind yelling at her to toughen up, stop being a weak sap, but Dolls’ silence is a reminder that she’s not enough, not even for him, and she doesn’t know how to cope with that. He was the first person besides her sister who didn’t think she was crazy when she said the word  _ “demons”  _ and meant it, and he helped her push through tragedy and depression and pain when she didn’t know if she’d get out of bed otherwise. He sits beside her, driving with the radio soft in the background, rain drumming on the windshield, and she thinks how stupid she is to risk this, for really anything in the world. 

She wants to tell him she’s never really realized how in love with him she was until this very moment, but it’s dumb and stupid and not the right time so instead she says, “I know we’re going to get into it more once we get to your house, but the silence is physically paining me so I just want to say I’m sorry.”

It’s a quiet, honest remark, and his eyes flick to hers. He gives the slightest of nods, then responds, “me too.” It’s enough to get them both through the rest of the car ride, breath less stilted, a little more free, minds a little calmer. 

When they finally arrive, he lets her in the door first. His apartment has begun to feel like home, and the familiar sound of the wood stove starting up and scent of pine, mint and something distinctly  _ him  _ fills her nostrils. When she settles herself against the corner of his couch, legs underneath herself, she feels small. 

She declines his offer for food, and he raises his eyebrows ever so slightly before coming to sit beside her. 

    “I haven’t been too hungry these past few days,” she admits, and when she meets his eyes she’s sure she looks vulnerable as ever.

He bites the inside of his cheek, nodding, knowing. 

    “Listen,” she continues, “I barely remember what we were fighting about anymore. All I know is that I feel like shit and you probably do too and I don’t want that, not for me and especially not for you. I know I’m difficult and maybe you should know what you signed up for with me, but I really need you around, Dolls, so I’m sorry and I just...I want us to be okay.” 

His fingers wrap around hers almost instantly, his touch so warm it feels like it’s been  _ years  _ without it. 

    “Hey,” he says, meeting her eyes and she can already feel the tension begin to dissolve. “Me too, Earp. I know I’m not easy either and I can be way too hard on you sometimes, but things just aren’t easy.”

    “I don’t know if they’ll ever be,” she replies, scooting closer to drop her head on his shoulder, tired of the distance and done with the lone wolf facade. It was never for her, she realizes, and it almost makes the entire situation sadder because she’s still broken, but thank God she’s found some source of hope. The question is whether it’ll last.

    “Someday,” Dolls replies, and kisses the top of her head, lips lingering. “I’m sorry, though, baby. I don’t want to fight with you.”

It’s such an intimate moment, so gentle and simple and calm, so unlike how Wynonna expected the conversation to go, and she can’t stop herself from twisting around, reaching a hand to his neck and pulling him in for a long kiss. She kisses him hard, practically clambering into his lap because she’s not great at words but she knows how to use her lips and so when she mumbles, “I love you” against his, she thinks he can feel it even more. 

    “I never said it back to you,” Wynonna says when she breaks away, breathless, forehead against his. “That night at the Wainwright.”

    “What?” he asks, confused, a little bit dazed. His hand slips up against her back and she tries to keep her gaze off his lips, but they’re close and she wants to lose herself in them; she didn’t realize how often she kissed him until she went far too long without kissing him.

    “Back in the beginning,” she explains, fingers tracing his neck mindlessly, “of all of this, the first night I kissed you. You said you needed me.”

He grins, reflecting. “Yeah, ballsy moment for me. But I did, and I do.” He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and she smiles, closing her eyes and letting her head drop against his again. Relief floods through her at his simple contact, at his humor, at  _ him. _

    “I never said it back because I was a little distracted trying not to be crucified by my neighbors,” she laughs against his cheek, “but I need you too. I really do.”

He cards his fingers through her hair, and it’s minutes before she can muster the words she’s afraid to ask. She relishes the way he presses lazy, sweet kisses against her shoulder, her collarbone, her cheek, and she keeps her hands around his neck, pulled close to him. She lets herself relax, breathe slow and let the sadness dissipate, but until she speaks, she knows it won’t go away.

“Do you ever wonder if maybe we can’t do this? If we’re both too fucked up to love?” she finally asks, voice an almost hoarse whisper. She’s terrified for the answer because it’s something she’s always wondered, if life was too cruel and damaging and she’d crossed the line of no return when it came to ever receiving something lasting. But Dolls answers, quick and sure, and doesn’t let go of her.

    “I may be, but you’re not.”

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and blinks away tears, tearing away from the crook of his shoulder to take his face in her hands and meet his eyes. “I’m not loving anyone if it isn’t you.”

He kisses her, and she can’t help but think back to how they were when this all started. Cold, aggravated, disinterested strangers, and now she sits in his lap, definitely crying now, and he brushes the tears away and keeps his lips on hers, eager and loving. She can feel the promise in his touch, in the way he holds her, even before he murmurs back, “me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you felt things from this and if I succeeded with the attempted emotionality in this piece! I wanted so badly for it to be a balance of sadness, hope, relief and love; the angst didn't last as long as I originally planned but I just wanted them to kind of give up on fighting and decide their love was way more important than anything they got pissed over.  
> Come talk to me on Tumblr (under the same username), where I'm always shitposting about these two and how they deserve the world.


End file.
